Dahlia and the Diary
by Someone Who Isn't Me
Summary: A seventh-year girl named Dahlia finds Tom Riddle's diary on a shelf in the library. She soon finds herself falling under Tom's spell, but she's not as young and innocent as Ginny Weasley. Will she find out what Tom is up to before it's too late?  AU
1. Introductions

A/N: The bolded names indicate a change in PoV

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><p><strong>Dahlia<strong>

Dahlia Grace was in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. She had a professor's note allowing her to be there "for research purposes only", but Defense Against the Dark Arts material wasn't the only thing she was looking for. She hoped to find a copy of her grandfather's book, which wasn't so much _Defense_ as the Dark Arts itself.

Her finger wandered over the "S" section. The books were arranged by title, not author, which annoyed her. It would be so much simpler to find things the way she was used to. Without realizing it, she skipped over the "S" and stepped into the "T" area. It seemed the book had been banned from the library altogether… Ah well. She'd find something else to read.

As Dahlia turned to leave, a slim black volume caught her eye. Most of the books on the shelf were thick and tattered, but the small one still looked fairly new. She took it off the shelf and studied it, looking for some kind of title. There was nothing on the cover, so she opened it. Cursive writing on the inside of the cover proclaimed to be "Tom Riddle's Diary".

Flipping through the pages, she realized that the book was blank. Not a single word on any page. And anyway, what was someone's diary doing in the restricted section?

Just then, writing appeared in black ink on the first page. Dahlia nearly dropped the book in shock, but held onto it and watched as the letters formed into words and a sentence.

_Hello. How did you come across my diary?_

Dahlia closed the book and stuffed it into her bag. She made a quick exit from the library, very surprised that she hadn't set off any of Madame Pince's security enchantments. She made a mental promise to return the book as soon as she found out what made it tick.

In the safety of the Ravenclaw common room, she opened the diary again. The writing on the first page was still there, though it looked slightly faded. Wondering if it could actually reply to her, she took out a quill and wrote just under the previous message.

_It was on a shelf in the Restricted section. I couldn't find any other interesting books in the rest of the library. Who's diary is this?_

**Tom**

_I think you mean "whose". And my name is Tom Riddle. What is yours? _

Tom's hand shook as he wrote the reply. He had been locked inside the diary, inside his own head, for nearly fifty years now. He'd managed to carve out a sort of mental space, a near-perfect image of his own body sitting at a desk in the Slytherin common room. But it just wasn't the same as being alive, as having his own body and interacting with the world. Tom could make things appear in his little room, but only objects he'd seen before. He'd already read and re-read all the books he had ever picked up and played infinite games of chess with himself. But another person to talk to? This was something new. Before he was locked in the diary, Tom had never cared for idle conversation. But fifty years of isolation had a way of making even the most cold-hearted seek companionship.

Within a few moments, whoever had the diary saw his message and wrote back.

_Don't correct my grammer. I don't think I ordered any books with spell check. If it offends you, I can simply put you back on the shelf. The name is Dahlia, by the way. Dahlia Grace._

So it was a girl… That would make things easier for Tom. He wasn't sexist by nature, but females had more of a tendency to write in diaries and share feelings.

_It is nice to meet you, Dahlia Grace. I'm sorry about the "spell check", whatever that is. I do tend to be a grammar fiend at times, but that is no reason to simply put me back on the shelf. I am probably an old book by now, and know some very interesting things._

Tom hated writing from the perspective of the diary. It made him feel like an object, like he was no more than the vessel that contained him. But it was necessary. He had no idea how much magical experience this Dahlia Grace had. Perhaps Horcruxes were common knowledge by now, or maybe Dahlia had a well-developed sense of intuition. Either way, pretending to be the diary itself made him seem more innocent. A charmed magical object rather than a piece of someone's soul. Whatever he did, he must not drive the girl away. If he played his cards right, Tom could regain his body and leave the diary for good.

**Dahlia**

_Perhaps. However, considering I found you in the restricted section, I wonder if we should continue this conversation._

Dahlia held her quill up to her mouth. Should she really put the diary back on the shelf? It was probably left there by the librarian who, deciding it not worth anything, hid it from the students until she could decide on something else. Usually it would have ended up in her office, but she may have been busy and forgot about it. Besides, since when had Dahlia been afraid of getting into trouble?

_It is all right, Dahlia. I'm not dangerous, and I have no idea what I was doing there in the first place. Perhaps the librarian misfiled me. This is Hogwarts, right? The Hogwarts Library?_

Dahlia smiled to herself as she wrote the next message. Despite the inherent craziness of talking to a book, this was kind of fun. It was the most entertaining thing she'd done since that time she'd rigged another girl's potion to explode all over her new school robes. Served her right…

_Misfiling is a possibility. Or possibly these pages contain the secret to the end of the world._

Dahlia wondered whether the book had any idea of things that were going on outside its pages. Did the book understand a joke when it heard... read... whatever it did... one?

_And yes, it is Hogwarts, _she added.

**Tom**

Tom didn't know what to think of the girl's cryptic response. Was she being serious? Had his... other self... accomplished his goals and dominated the Wizarding world? Was Tom's own name recognizable to her?

No, it couldn't be. Otherwise, the book would not have been on public display and Dahlia wouldn't sound so lighthearted about the 'secret to the end of the world'. Tom shook his head in disgust at himself. It seemed that isolation had taken its toll on his ability to read people's intentions, and he couldn't use Legilimancy to read Dahlia's mind through the diary's pages...

_Very funny. I almost fell for that one._

The girl wrote back almost instantly.

_Glad I got it out of my system. I've never written in a diary before, much less one that wrote back._

Tom thought of a clever way to throw Dahlia off his trail so she wouldn't get too curious about him.

_Never? I thought replying diaries would be more common by now. How old are you, anyway? And what year is it?_

Of course, Tom had made up the thing about the self-writing diary, but it had been a good excuse to ask about the year. He had lost track of time several decades back, and wasn't sure how long he'd been trapped in the diary. It couldn't have been any more than a century, but it was always better to be exact.

_I'm a seventh year Ravenclaw. The year is 1993. When was this interesting piece of literature created anyway? It seems to me that a self-writing diary would be more common if the idea was well known. Why would it have been kept a secret?_

Tom thought for a moment, going over imaginary motives in his head.

_Perhaps my maker wanted a monopoly on his invention. Anyway, enough about me. What would you like to talk about instead? _

Tom wasn't thrilled with Dahlia's line of questioning, nor with her age. Unless they had completely watered down the quality of magical instruction at Hogwarts, a seventh-year would be more difficult to manipulate than a younger student. But he had time to do it. Oh, did he have time! It had already been fifty years, exactly, since he'd been sealed inside the diary, so he could wait a bit longer.

Fifty years... Tom wondered what the other half of him had done with fifty years. Had he found a path to true immortality? Gained enough power to command the Wizarding world? Somehow, he doubted it. But the other Tom Riddle was probably still alive. That bastard probably didn't even notice when he locked away a sentient part of his soul. As soon as Tom escaped the diary's pages, he would forego the Killing Curse and strangle his counterpart with his bare hands!

_I honestly don't know what to talk about with a replying diary. It isn't as if I could tell you everything I ate today... my sister did that to her diary once. I guess that's what happens when you have serious writer's block._

At that moment, Tom was wishing he had fallen into the sister's hands instead.

_I see your point. You could start by telling me a bit about yourself, or the current situation in the world you live in. Are there any major wars or political events going on? _

Tom had a sudden, childish urge to cross his fingers. Despite the fact that he hated his living counterpart, he hoped that the other had accomplished something notable. That he had reached at least one of the goals they had shared before the soul division occurred late in Tom's sixth year at Hogwarts.

_Well, the Ministry of Magic has just elected a new leader a few years ago, a man by the name of Cornelius Fudge. He seems like an idiot, but then again, I hate politicians. Our prefect just called for lights out. I have to go before the book gets confiscated._

_Good night, _

Tom began to write, but the book had already been shut and he was alone with his thoughts. After a few minutes of sitting in the imaginary common room, it was as if nothing had changed. For a few brief minutes, he had been connected to the world. He'd felt almost alive again. But now the girl had left, and Tom could only hope that she would return the next day. He had gotten a small twinge of energy from the conversation with Dahlia, but he needed more. Much more. Creating a body out of thin air was no simple feat...

Tom fell into a sort of trance, sitting in the chair with a quill still clutched in his hand. His eyes were fixed on the imaginary copy of his diary, waiting for the next words to appear.

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><p>Thanks for reading! Please review if you liked it :)<p> 


	2. The Diary's Deceit

**Dahlia**

As soon as Dahila had finished with Transfiguration the next day, she rushed back up to the Ravenclaw common room. She plopped onto her bed. She looked around to make sure nobody was looking before she pulled the diary from a crack between her mattress and the bed frame. She opened her potions book, hoping to be able to study while she was writing.

_Sorry it took so long, I had Transfiguration last and it's on the other side of the school._

The diary took a moment to respond, as if it was waking up.

_That is all right. I'm flattered by the fact that you returned at all. How has your day been going?_

Dahlia had started her day in potions with the Slytherins. She didn't have anything against Slytherins, but one in particular by the name of Eric constantly got on her nerves. Today he had slipped an extra drop of one of the chemicals they were using into her cauldron, causing fumes that made her partner, who was downwind of them, pass out. Of course, Dahlia, who had a short temper, had gotten him back by hiding a piece of Gillyweed in his food. He had to wear a helmet full of water over his head since his temporary gills could not function in air.

_Just causing a tidbit of mischief. Getting revenge on a boy who deserved it. Patricia, my friend from Slytherin, said we should have been in the same house due to my quick wit._

Dahlia hoped that Tom wouldn't judge her for taking revenge on someone who deserved it.

_Slytherin is a noble House, but wit is more of a Ravenclaw trait. You are in Ravenclaw, aren't you?_

Hadn't she told him that already?

_Yes, I am. But many of the Slytherins I know have a quick wit... and a short temper. They don't hesitate to put that wit to good use._

Dahlia knew well that her friend was in the Slytherin house due to her heritage, but Dahlia's own grandfather had been a Slytherin. She wondered why she and her father had been put into Ravenclaw…

**Tom**

_There are many misconceptions about Slytherin and those who are Sorted into it. I hope that you don't believe them. _

As Tom wrote his reply, he thought of another thing to ask Dahlia about; her blood status. He really hoped he wasn't talking to a Mudblood... But there was just no tactful way of asking! If Dahlia truly had Muggles for parents, she might be offended by the question. The last thing Tom wanted was to drive her away. He sighed to himself, gritted his teeth, and continued playing nice.

_What misconceptions are you talking about? Many other students think Slytherins cruel and turn evil. But my best friend is a Slytherin, and I find it hard to believe that she'd ever be like that._

Tom was surprised that Dahlia could discuss these things so casually. When he had been at Hogwarts, the anti-Slytherin feelings had been much more intense.

_That is exactly what I was talking about, but I am glad you have a friend who defies the stereotype. __When I was at Hogwarts, people were often less open-minded about such things__._

Tom desperately tried to cross out the last line he had written, but it was too late. In his haste, he had forgotten that he was pretending to be an enchanted object. He wondered how Dahlia would react to his blunder.

**Dahlia**

Dahlia looked at the book, shocked. She wasn't sure she believed what she was seeing. Surely the book was joking, or playing with her.

_YOU were a student? Are you a real person? Are you dead? Why are you writing me through a diary if you're real?_

Dahlia only wrote some of the questions that ran through her head. She didn't want to overwhelm the book or seem especially rude. After a while, the diary wrote back to her. Its handwriting looked rushed and shaky, as if it was worried about her reaction.

_At one time, I was a student and what you call a "real person". Now I am only a preserved memory of a boy named Tom Riddle. I don't know if I am alive or dead._

Dahlia thought for a moment.

_That makes sense. How long have you been a memory in this book? What were you like when you were a student? Sorry about all the questions, but this really isn't something I'm used to._

Dahlia brushed the feather of her quill along her neck, wondering how to preserve memories in a book. She had heard of preserving them with an item called a Pensieve, but she had never known you could do it using inanimate objects. That would be something she would have to ask Tom later.

_I have been in this state for about fifty years. I cast a charm that would preserve a memory of myself in this book, but it went horribly wrong. I ended up as the memory itself. As for what I was like, well... I've always found it hard to describe myself. I was a good student, and teachers liked me. I had quite a few friends within Slytherin, and was always polite to those from other Houses. What about you? I think you should give me your own answer to the last question you asked._

Dahlia thought about how to describe herself without giving this good studenta bad impression. She was pretty good at potions... That was a start. Her professor, Snape, was pleased with her skill. She was okay at Transfiguration, but she remembered the time she accidently turned the chairs they were using into hungry bulldogs. All the other students jumped onto the desks and McGonagall had given her detention.

_Well, I guess I could be considered a good student. I do pretty well in most of my classes, but sometimes I make a few mistakes and get in trouble. My potions master, Snape, seems to be impressed with me, but I'm not quite sure about my other teachers._

**Tom**

He finally managed to divert the conversation away from himself.

_So Horace Slughorn isn't teaching Potions anymore? Strange. Even after fifty years, he should be younger than the usual retirement age for Wizarding teachers. What is this "Snape" fellow like? He must be some sort of Muggle-born, because I have never heard of his surname. What other teachers do you have?_

The girl wrote back quickly, eager to talk about her life with a total stranger. Tom would never understand the impulse that drove girls to do these things…

_Professor Severus Snape is in charge of the Slytherin house. He is rude to most students, especially one by the name of Harry Potter. It's obvious he holds a grudge of some sort. And who is Slughorn? Was he your potions teacher?_

This was all good and well, but Tom wanted to see some emotion from the girl. Perhaps he could make her feel sorry for him?

_Yes, he taught Potions at Hogwarts. He was a middle-aged man when I knew him, and rather overweight. He was a good teacher, knowledgeable about his subject. He liked "collecting" famous students and had a particular fondness for crystallized pineapple. He once told me I could become the Minister of Magic someday... But that wasn't exactly what happened, was it? _

Tom could feel Dahlia's sympathy, and he soaked it in. His tactics seemed to be working on the girl, but not as quickly or easily as he had hoped. Tom was getting over the initial relief of having another human being to talk to, so he resigned himself to days or weeks or months of casual, boring conversation.

_I guess not. It must be awful to be trapped in a diary like that! But if you had become the Minister of Magic, you would probably be much better at it than the pig we have now. He's a worthless piece of hogwash and he's putting the Ministry through a downward spiral. Power-hungry, worthless… Have I mentioned I don't like politicians?_

It seemed that Tom had found a kindred spirit.

_Yes, you have mentioned your hatred of politicians, but I share most of your opinions. The one thing I disagree with is your negative image of power. Power transcends good and evil, and it can be a very useful thing to have as long as it is not misused. And as for the Minister of Magic... Well, at least it's not a man named Albus Dumbledore! I doubt you have heard of him, but he was the Transfiguration teacher when I was at Hogwarts. Biggest crackpot I have ever seen! He was quite mad, probably homosexual, and always spoke of love as if it was some sort of magic. I apologize about the rant, but as you can probably tell, I disliked him very much._

When Dahlia wrote in his diary again, she seemed somewhat apprehensive. Tom wasn't sure how he could tell, but he knew that he had said something wrong.

_Actually, Albus Dumbledore is now Headmaster at Hogwarts. We have Professor McGonagall as our Transfiguration teacher. He's a pretty nice guy, and I don't know what you've got against him. Anyway… I've never seen a situation where power wasn't misused, but I'm sure there is a good use of power somewhere. If there wasn't, then I'm sure wizards and Muggles alike would be screwed._

Tom hissed between clenched teeth. Dumbledore, Headmaster? Was there no sense in this future world?

_Please forget what I said about Dumbledore. I would not have voiced my opinions if I had known he still held a position at Hogwarts. Do you feel that sort of hate toward anyone? It's all right, I won't tell anyone. In fact, you can tell me anything you would like to. I would never be able to share any secrets you disclose._

**Dahlia**

She thought for a moment. Her ex-potions partner only got on her nerves. She wasn't very good and she was always trying to steal the credit of something Dahlia herself had done. Then there was Eric. He constantly teased her and ruined her hard work. He was selfish, rotten, and cruel. One of the few who fit the stereotypical idea of a modern-day Slytherin.

_Well, there is this guy named Eric. He is a moron who always attempts to ruin my work. He's rude, conceited, spoiled, and I guess... I guess you can say I hate him._

Tom had touched a nerve in her. Before she'd written it, she had only disliked Eric. But the more she thought about him, the more her feelings approached actual hate.

_Have you ever wanted to do something about him? I am not talking about anything particularly serious, of course. Not murder or anything like that. The punishment should always fit the crime. What is the worst thing he's done to you, anyway? And, if you could do anything in the world, what form would your revenge take?_

Dahlia thought about it. What had he done that was so bad? There were the numerous times he had ruined her schoolwork. The time he had cursed her boyfriend... now ex-boyfriend because of it. The time he had thrown her into the lake, knowing very well she wasn't a great swimmer. He did pull her out, however, no doubt so he wouldn't get in trouble.

_Well... I honestly don't know. He's never tried to kill me or anything... He's ruined my schoolwork once or twice... or twenty times. He's tossed me in the lake nearby despite the fact I'm a horrible swimmer, which he knows. Or prevented me from making friends... I don't know what I'd do to him. I gave him gills for an hour, if that counts for anything._

Tom's reply came almost instantly, writing flying onto the page. If he'd been standing right in front of her, Dahlia had the feeling that he would be amused.

_Good job with the Gillyweed. Personally, I would never have done something so obvious, but I like the thought behind it all the same. If you want to do anything else to him, I suggest using a slow-acting curse and erasing his memory afterward. Perhaps the Memory Charm alone would be sufficient, if you do it well enough that he completely forgets who you are and why he is so rude to you._

Dahlia considered Tom's words. Obvious? Maybe she liked being obvious. Maybe she liked Eric knowing that she was going to get revenge and maybe she liked him knowing how dangerous she was. As for the memory charm, he had no reason to dislike her... not that she could think of anyway. If she erased his memory when there was nothing there, would it be worth it? He would just forget everything she had done to him and start from the beginning.

_I don't know why he's so rude to me and I wonder if he even has a reason for doing what he does. A memory charm would be useless if there was nothing important to erase._

**Tom**

_I am sure there is some sort of reasoning behind his actions. Everyone has a motive for the things they do, no matter how obscure. But you don't have to do anything to Eric at all. I'm only here to give advice and make suggestions, not force your hand. _

Tom wrote his reply and waited for a few seconds, trying to create some sort of barrier between what he had just written and the completely different topic he was about to discuss. He wrote again:

_Now, on a different note, what time is it in your world? I am guessing it is rather late in the evening. We have been talking for quite a while... Are you feeling tired, Dahlia? You aren't under any sort of obligation to write to me, though I do appreciate your company. _

As always, Tom's seemingly innocent questions had a hidden subtext that only he could see. He did not want to stop talking to Dahlia, but he needed to seem polite and courteous. Also, he guessed that she would be tired, more from his drain on her life-force than from the hour (however late it may be). He was getting a fair amount of energy from her, even though she hadn't yet laid bare her soul in any meaningful way.

If Tom chose, he could probably appear in a sort of spectral form by now, but it would drain any reserves that he had. No, he must be patient and let Dahlia get used to him. He would only show himself when the time came to claim his place in the modern world. But perhaps there was another way to communicate with the girl... He had called himself a memory, and technically that was what he was. Maybe, if the occasion demanded, he could take her inside one of his own recollections.

Maybe... Tom's thoughts were interrupted by Dahlia's latest reply.

_Actually, I've already missed dinner. And the prefect isn't coming yet. I suppose I should probably leave before that happens. I'm feeling kind of drowsy anyway. Talking to you is really addicting! I guess this is goodbye, at least until tomorrow._

_Good night, Dahlia. _

This time, Tom had time to finish writing before Dahlia closed his diary. He sat in his favorite armchair, wishing he was able to sleep.


	3. A Touch of Paranoia

**Dahlia**

Dahlia sat at breakfast, slowly eating her food. She hadn't had much sleep the night before, probably due to the fact she had a paper she had to turn in for Charms. She pulled out her homework and saw the diary she had been writing in for the past few days. She pulled that out as well.

_Good morning, Tom._

She turned her attention to her half-finished essay for class and began working on it, but her concentration kept wavering as she glanced at the book.

_Hello, Dahlia. You are writing to me earlier today, aren't you?_

_It's breakfast time. I'm sitting alone so I thought I'd talk while I finished my charms paper. If that's all right with you, anyway._

Dahlia looked up from the diary. Why would she have needed his permission anyway? It wasn't like he had a choice in the matter…

_Sure, I don't mind. But please make sure that you do sit alone when you talk to me. I doubt you would want another student to steal me or ask too many questions._

Dahlia glanced over at Eric, who was sitting at the Slytherin table. He was watching her intently. She wondered what annoying trick he was planning for the day, hoping that it wouldn't be too awful. What if he tried to steal the diary? What would happen if he realized that it was empty? Dahlia bit her lip. She was being way too paranoid.

_I understand. There are some students who are too nosy._

She looked back up at Eric, who was still watching her.

_Are you talking about Eric, by any chance?_

_Well... I wasn't being specific, but I guess you could assume that._

Dahlia wondered how the book knew things. It could figure out so much from only a little information. Her gut instincts told her she should be careful, but she just didn't seem to be able to put the book down.

_Yes, I could._

There was a pause, and then Tom wrote again.

_Sorry about that last thing I said; it came out wrong. Does that ever happen to you?_

Dahlia wondered if the diary was trying to make a joke. If so, it didn't have a very good grasp of humor.

_Quite often, however I'm going to be late for potions if I do not leave now._

"What's that?" asked an obnoxious voice from behind her. She slammed the book shut and put it into her bag. Standing up, she walked past Eric.

"Stop being so nosy!" she said, still walking. He followed her. "How long were you hovering there anyway?" Dahlia asked him, hoping he didn't notice anything.

"Long enough to see the ink in it vanish and you reply. Where did you get that book? It's not something you see often."

Dahlia turned and shoved him to the ground, surprised at herself for acting so violently. "Why don't you mind your own business?" she shouted before turning down the corridor that led to the dungeons.

**Tom**

Tom could feel his diary being slammed shut. His own copy of the book did the same, the hollow noise echoing against the walls of the common room. This new development worried him. Dahlia was far enough under his spell that she would never do something like that on purpose. No, she had a reason to leave him hanging. Someone must have noticed what she was doing. Someone like that boy named Eric she had mentioned... Tom doubted the boy was much of a threat, but he did not like the idea of anyone knowing about his existence.

He got up from his chair and paced in a circle around the room. It was cold in there, as usual, and confining. Years earlier, Tom had tried to create a larger area for himself to inhabit. As soon as he began to widen his horizons, the whole construct had collapsed around him, leaving him with only darkness. Tom didn't mind the dark, nor the cold, but both were terribly lonely. The irony of his situation struck him for the millionth time. When he was at Hogwarts, he had always tried to be left alone. Now he had his wish, and then some, but he was still not satisfied.

He walked over to the fireplace and pulled a wand out of his back pocket. "Incendio", he whispered. As usual, the fire did not light. "Incendio." His tone was louder, more commanding. "INCENDIO!" he roared, and a spark flickered to life. Tom allowed himself a brief moment of surprise and contentment; he had never managed to light the fireplace before. Then he realized the reason for his triumph. The fire was drawing on the strength he had gained from Dahlia, draining his reserves.

Tom quickly doused the flame and sat back down in his usual chair. He should have known...

Nothing, in any world, was free.


	4. Possession

**Dahlia**

Later that afternoon, Dahlia returned to the common room. She pulled out her book and quill with quick, jerky motions that betrayed her anger. She had made a "Troll" on her Charms essay. Usually, she was pretty good at that class, but it just wasn't her day. She flopped down on her bed and began scribbling furiously in the diary.

_Hello Tom. I'm sorry I took so long to write to you, but I've had kind of a bad day. _

She held her breath as she waited for a reply. What if Tom was angry at her for leaving him hanging?

_What happened, Dahlia? Are you all right? And what made you shut my diary so harshly earlier this morning?_

Dahlia decided not to tell Tom about what happened with Eric, but it somehow slipped out anyway.

_Well, someone... I'm not going to say who... was being a bit nosy. I'm sorry, I don't know if you can feel pain when I slam the book._

She felt bad. Even if Tom wasn't a real person anymore, he seemed to have feelings anyway. She wondered whether he had felt any pain or if he would be mad at her for letting someone else see the diary.

_Ah, I see. It doesn't hurt me when you close the book quickly, but it comes as a bit of a shock. Did this "nosy person" happen to see what you were doing with my diary?_

Dahlia thought about it. Had Eric actually seen what had happened? She couldn't remember. He may have just seen the words on the last page.

_I don't think so. I know he saw the last line, but I'm pretty sure we're safe._

When Tom wrote again, it was a longer entry than usual. And something about it seemed… off, somehow. Like he was lying or trying to trick her. But Tom wouldn't do that, would he?

_Somehow, your words don't reassure me. Eric may be more of a threat than he seems, and not only to me. He seems awfully curious about you, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt. I know just what to do about him, and I promise that it does not involve anyone getting hurt. Do you trust me, Dahlia? Will you let me solve your largest problem?_

Dahlia swallowed. Eric really wasn't much of a threat, was he? And he was always shoving his face into her business. Perhaps Tom was right. Maybe something did need to be done. It was all right as long as no one was badly hurt.

_What exactly do you have in mind?_

Tom's next entry was as vague as the one before.

_I will tell you in a minute. Just touch your quill to the page and relax..._

Despite her misgivings, Dahlia did so. She _did_ trust Tom, despite the strange things he'd been saying. For some reason, she just couldn't help it. And he had never done anything before, even though he'd had the chance. She figured she was just being stupid. What harm could a little black book cause, anyway?

**Tom**

Tom chuckled darkly. It was the first time he had laughed in fifty years, and it would have been an understatement to say it was not a good sign. He could sense Dahlia more clearly than ever. She was connected to him now, her ink bleeding onto the pages of his soul. He could see a small blot of it appear on his own copy of the book. Touching his own quill to the spot, he concentrated with the same focus that had enabled him to perform advanced magic and meditate for weeks on end.

Tom closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he was looking out onto the Ravenclaw common room. It was warmer and cheerier than Tom's room, but that may have been because it was real. Tom felt a wild sort of happiness bubbling up inside him, a feeling that he hadn't encountered since his first day at Hogwarts. He walked over to the nearest window, turning it into a mirror with a wave of the wand he had found in the pocket of his pants. He stumbled a little, because his legs were shorter than he was accustomed to. Looking into the mirror, he saw a savage smile splitting Dahlia's face. He wasn't alive, not really. Not in the permanent sense he was trying to achieve. But, for the moment, the possession was enough.

He would have liked to savor the moment, but Tom knew he had to move fast if he wanted to deal with Eric. He wasn't sure how long he could control Dahlia, and he didn't want to take the chance of her waking up halfway through. Tom set out for the Slytherin common room, figuring he could find the boy there. No one gave him a second glance as he walked down the halls of Hogwarts. Nothing noticable had changed while he'd been gone. Even if he was only visiting, it was good to be back.

Once Tom reached the dungeons, he found the stretch of wall that led to the real Slytherin common room. He didn't know the password, but a quick word in Parseltongue was enough to open the concealed door. He strode into the room with a young man's confident stride, which must have looked strange on a girl's body. Luckily, Eric was there, lounging on a green couch near the fire. Tom was behind him in two strides. "Imperio," he whispered, hearing the unfamiliar pitch of his voice. "Come with me..."

The boy obediently followed Tom out of the common room and into a distant corridor in the Dungeons. Once they were away from prying eyes, Tom released Eric from the Imperius curse.

"Hey, what are you-"

The boy began to protest, but Tom cut him off. First, he performed a nonverbal spell that allowed him to drain just enough of the boy's life-force to perform the rest of the magic he needed to do. It was just in time, too, because for a moment he felt his control of Dahlia slipping. Next, he cast a Silencing Charm and finally... "Crucio!"

As Eric No-Last-Name writhed in silent throes of pain, Tom made sure the boy had a good view of Dahlia's face. After nearly a minute, he was forced to stop. Reluctantly, Tom lowered the wand. The effort required to sustain the Cruciatus Curse was just too much for both him and the boy. Eric panted and gasped, still silenced, cringing as Tom took a step closer to him.

"Obliviate." The last spell was said softly, almost gently. Tom made sure not to erase too much; only memories of the torture and the diary and the boy's cruelty to Dahlia. He left a just a hint of something, a whisper of fear that was associated with Dahlia's face. Eric would never know why he would never want to bother her again.

Tom left him there, still on the floor, and returned to the Ravenclaw common room. He balked against returning to the diary, but knew he had to. Besides, he'd had enough entertainemnt to last him a while. Tom wasn't sure exactly how he slipped out of the girl's body, but he found himself back in his own imaginary room. Dahlia would never remember what she had done while under his control.

Tom sat in his favorite chair, wondering if his actions had been motivated by cruelty or genuine feelings for the girl. Either way, he couldn't wait to see what she would have to say the next day.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! Please review if you liked it :)<p> 


	5. The Morning After

Dahlia woke up the next morning, completely worn out. The dormitory was silent and empty, telling her she had missed breakfast. She ran to the trunk to find her robes, but noticed that the diary was still sitting on top of its lid. Dahlia gasped quietly, not believing she had left it out in the open. How had she been so stupid?

Glancing around to make sure no one saw, she dropped the diary into her bag and hurried out of the common room. The corridors were quiet and empty, and the only sound she heard was that of her own footfalls as she ran downstairs to the dungeons.

Dahlia found her classroom and slipped through the door, trying to stifle her heavy breathing. She made her way to the back of the room, toward a boy who was sitting alone with his head down on his desk. As she got closer, she realized that the boy was Eric. Dahlia sighed and wished she could just turn back, but it was too late to do anything.

She sat down beside him, surprised to find that he kept his mouth shut instead of letting loose a typical sarcastic remark. In fact, he actually shifted away from her, leaning to the opposite side of his chair. He seemed so… different. As if something had happened to change him overnight. Dahlia had just decided to ask him what was wrong, but she didn't even have time to open her mouth before Snape fixed her with his angry, dark-eyed stare.

"Late again, Ms. Grace?" he asked in the usual sarcastic tone. Dahlia was about to tell him that she hadn't been late in weeks, but thought better of it. "Well, it looks like you have earned yourself a detention."

He turned away and began explaining the Draught of Living Death, but Dahlia's mind was elsewhere. She thought about Tom and Eric and the strange direction her life seemed to be moving in these days. After Snape had finished with his lecture, she made the potion on autopilot. It was surprisingly good, considering the amount of attention she was paying to the ingredients, which was to say that it was awful.

When class was over, she noticed that Eric seemed to be in a hurry to get away from her. She stopped him near the door and asked, "Eric? Hey, loser, are you feeling okay?" Despite referring to him as a loser, Dahlia was genuinely worried. He was acting like the exact opposite of the boy she was used to. Eric just nodded and slipped past her. How strange…

* * *

><p>After the rest of her classes and an hour-long detention spent scrubbing cauldrons, Dahlia slowly made her way to the common room. She would have run there, but she just didn't have the energy. Maybe she'd caught some sort of virus. She decided to see Madam Pomfrey the next day if she still felt so tired.<p>

A gaggle of girls was chatting in the dormitory, so Dahlia waited in the common room for half an hour until they left. She kept fidgeting, annoyed with them for no apparent reason. She wanted to talk to Tom, but it wouldn't be a good idea to open the diary with other people around. Finally, they left, and Dahlia let out a sigh of relief. Flipping to the first page in the diary, she wrote:

_I'm sorry about leaving you hanging last night… Must have fallen asleep or something. _

**Tom**

_As I remember, you were rather tired last night. It's nothing to worry about. _

He had been afraid – No, _worried. _Tom Riddle was never afraid- that Dahlia remembered something from the night before, but she didn't seem to have retained anything. He had always been good at things that had to do with some kind of deception, and memory charms were no exception. It was an enormous relief to know that his magical prowess hadn't diminished with the splitting of his soul.

_I'm sorry, but I don't remember anything from last night. All I know is things have been really weird today. _

_What do you mean? _

Tom was glad that Dahlia couldn't hear his voice at the moment. He would have been unable to restrain the sarcasm that was practically oozing from his pores.

_I haven't been able to stay awake during class, I made a "Troll" on my Charms essay, and Eric is avoiding me. Everything is just backwards!_

Tom tried to restrain himself. Really, it wasn't all that funny. The poor girl had been through the equivalent of mental rape, so she had a right to be upset. But Tom couldn't help it... He had always managed to find humor in the sickest of places. Ah, well. At least none of his feelings would show through this prison of paper and ink.

_I am sorry to hear the first two things you mentioned. Perhaps you should visit Madame Pomfrey and ask for a potion that would keep you awake. And I could help you with Charms if you need assistance in the future. Just ask me if you have a question. And as for Eric, perhaps his avoidance is a good thing. At least he's not a bother anymore, right? _

Tom hoped that the girl would take his advice and go to the nurse. He doubted that silly Pomona girl (who must be a rather old woman by now) would realize what was wrong with Dahlia. And a stimulating potion would mask the effects of what he was doing to her…

_Perhaps a trip to Madame Pomfrey would be a good idea. I don't think I can keep my grades up if I fall asleep during class. And as for Eric, I just don't know. It seems really weird and I don't know what's going on._

The confusion was no longer funny. In fact, it was beginning to get on his nerves.

_Just appreciate it._

**Dahlia**

She was surprised by his comment; it seemed to carry more force than his usual replies. She didn't like the idea of not knowing what he was really thinking or feeling. Nothing made any sense and it bothered her.

_Whatever. I think I should probably visit Madame Pomfrey now._

_All right, we will talk later. Please tell me if she says that something is wrong with you._

Dahlia's reply was curt and to the point.

_I will._

She closed the book gently and slipped it into her bag. It was an effort to get out of bed and gather her things, an effort to climb the stairs that led to the Hospital Wing. When Dahlia got there, she was told to wait a second. She stood in the doorway, swaying slightly from the exertion of walking up all those stairs. The dizziness grew until she nearly fell, clutching the door frame to keep standing upright.

Madame Pomfrey rushed over to her and led her to sit down on one of the beds. "Miss Grace? Are you feeling all right?"

Dahlia's dizziness faded and she smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just need something to keep me awake during class. And awake just standing here!" She laughed weakly at her own joke.

Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips, and Dahlia wondered at the message of hidden disapproval. She wasn't drunk, or even especially sleep-deprived. It wasn't her fault that she was suddenly so tired.

The nurse went to the back room and rummaged through her things, bringing a small bottle back to Dahlia.

"Take one sip of this whenever you feel dizzy or tired. If you feel any worse, let me know immediately."

**Tom**

Tom had another trick to add to the list of things he could do. While Dahlia talked to Madame Pomfrey, he was listening. He had managed to partially lift himself away from the diary, just enough to hear the conversation. He was silent, invisible, and generally undetectable.

Tom was feeling slightly paranoid, just enough to make sure that the girl told the truth when she talked to him later. He wouldn't want Dahlia to mislead him if Pomfrey was actually suspicious... But the old Healer hadn't seen anything particularly wrong with Dahlia, probably chalking up her tiredness to homework or exam stress.

For the moment, everything was all right.

* * *

><p>Again, thanks for reading! I wonder how many people have actually gotten this far... I know some of the chapters are a bit boring, this one included. But I promise that something will eventually happen. It may not be real romance, because that's just so out of character for Tom, but still... There will be something. As always, review if you like this :)<p> 


	6. Fear of the Name

**Dahlia**

Dahlia rushed up the stairs to her bed after dinner that night. The first thing she did was check that she was alone. There were people in the common room, as usual, but not in the dormitory. The second thing she did was open Tom's diary.

_Good evening, Tom._

She thought she was beginning to sound kinda formal. Maybe Tom was rubbing off on her…

_Hello. Do you feel any better?_

Dahlia wondered why he seemed to care so much about her well-being. Even after all their conversations, he barely knew her. Maybe he was just incredibly lonely. It must have been sucked to be locked up in a book for fifty years with no one to talk to. Dahlia couldn't help but feel sorry for him. She didn't mention that, of course. Most people didn't like pity when it was directed at them.

_Much, but the potion she gave tastes disgusting._

_Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease that makes it necessary. _

_You can say that again! But I need to keep taking that potion so I won't fall asleep in class. If I fall askeep every day, I'll fail my NEWTS and then where would I be? Nowhere._

Dahlia didn't know if she liked complaining to poor Tom, but she knew he would listen and genuinely care. Maybe it was because he was stuck inside a book without anyone to talk to, or maybe it was because he was a good person. She didn't know which, but she was happy she had someone to vent her feelings to.

**Tom**

Tom nearly laughed for the second time in fifty years, but he restrained himself on some unconscious level. He could practically read Dahlia's thoughts now, and he found it hysterically funny that she thought he was a "good person". No one had ever thought or said that about him, and in some perverse way he was actually flattered by the compliment. Of course, if Dahlia knew all the things he'd done she would quickly change her tune.

For some reason, Tom felt rather sad at the thought. He was getting used to Dahlia's friendly banter, and he didn't want to disappoint the girl or drive her away. He wasn't even looking forward to killing her, which he would eventually need to do. If only there was a way to come back to life while leaving the girl alive as well... Tom put aside his troubled thoughts and wrote a reply.

_No matter how well you do on your NEWTS, I'm sure you will go far. _

He had always been a good liar.

* * *

><p>Tom knew that the next day was a Friday, and Dahlia had to go to class. If she was late, people might begin to think that something was wrong with her, and of course he didn't want that. But it was nearing the time for the first class of the day to begin, and the girl was still asleep. Even if she had changed her clothes before going to sleep, she was still sprawled sideways over her bed in a most unbecoming way.<p>

He figured that he should try to wake her, but how? His diary was jammed into a crack between two mattresses. He couldn't open it or lift it out, let alone make its pages flip wildly in the hurricane of his imagination.

Tom settled for lifting himself out of the book, invisible, and making a tapping sound against Dahlia's bedside table. After a few seconds, Tom realized that he wasn't quite solid enough to make himself heard. Abandoning the gentle tapping, he began to pound the table with the side of his fist. Tom hadn't gotten into a physical fight since the orphanage, but his hand could deliver a pretty strong blow.

The noise he created began as a tapping sound and progressed to something that made the objects on Dahlia's table rattle slightly. The girl moaned a little and turned over in her sleep. On the other side of the room, a cat hissed in Tom's direction.

The girl woke with a start and looked around wildly. Tom couldn't see every motion she made, but he could tell that she had begun to get ready for the day. He settled back into the book, satisfied. He realized that Dahlia hadn't taken his diary with her to class today. This was good, because it meant that she wouldn't be tempted to open it in front of other students' prying eyes. Tom just hoped that she wasn't beginning to lose interest...

For the next few hours, Tom kept a careful eye on his diary. He still spent most of the time in the fake Slytherin common room, amusing himself by changing the green and silver into Ravenclaw colors and back again. But he looked out every once in a while, making sure that no one was approaching the crack between the mattresses of Dahlia's bed.

There happened to be a clock on the wall of the dormitory, and Tom could tell that it was past the time that classes ended at Hogwarts. Several other students came into the dorm to get their things, but Dahlia did not show herself. Where _was_ that girl?

**Dahlia**

Dahlia sat in her Charms class, organizing Professor Flitwick's materials. Sneaking a glance at his clock, she could see that she'd already been there for an hour. When would detention be over already?

She couldn't believe she was there in the first place. She had never gotten caught when she got back at someone before, but this time she must have been a little too obvious in her revenge.

_What's wrong with me?_ She asked herself. _I usually think these things through before I do them!_

She had been way too impulsive. Perhaps it was her drowsiness mixed with the potion she had been taking. Maybe it was too stimulating, but her mind still couldn't think clearly due to the tiredness of her head. Maybe it wasn't her fault after all.

After a period of time that felt like eternity but was probably five minutes, she placed the last feather in Professor Flitwick's box.

"You may leave, Miss Grace." Flitwick told her. She rushed upstairs as soon as she heard her name, feeling guilty for keeping Tom waiting. After all, it wasn't like he had anyone else to talk to.

Again, the first thing she did in the dormitory was to open the diary. Talking to Tom was beyond a habit now, more like a need. She rummaged around in her bag for an inkwell and a quill, then dipped feather to purple ink and began to write.

_Sorry I took so long to get here, Tom. I got detention today._

Dahlia felt embarrassed telling the boy teachers had always loved that she had gotten into trouble. She was even more embarrassed that she had gotten caught for the first time in her life.

_Was whatever you did to earn it worth the trouble?_

_I don't think so..._wrote Dahlia. _ I didn't even aim the spell at her, it was only at her project. She was just bugging me and I had a right to put an end to it. It's too bad I was the only one caught._

She hoped that Tom wouldn't be angry or think it was funny. She could just _picture_ him, shaking his head in disdain…

_Ah, I see. For a moment there, I thought I was talking to the next great Dark wizard. Witch, I mean._

He was being sarcastic. Why was he being sarcastic? He really had a strange sense of humor. Her, a dark witch? That would be impossible... unless she was anything like her grandfather, which she wasn't. She shivered at the thought.

_Not unless you count exploding things and sending another girl to the hospital wing dark magic. It was just a fluke, the explosion was harder than I had originally planned. She's not going to die or anything. Madame Pomfrey will have her released before dinner._

Tom's reply took a while to come. Dahlia actually bit one of her nails, waiting for him to judge her actions. What he wrote instead took her by surprise.

_That's reassuring. Speaking of Dark witches and wizards, do you know if there have been any major practitioners of the Dark Arts during the last fifty years?_

It seemed he was trying to change the subject, which she definitely didn't mind doing. She started writing, making sure not to mention her grandfather. He had only practiced the Dark Arts in his old age, and wasn't what you'd call _major_. He'd only killed one person, and in Azkaban he'd claimed that it was "in the name of science". Not admirable, but not a mass murderer either.

_The only one I can think of right off is... well... we aren't supposed to say his name. He was really powerful and murdered hundreds of people. _

Tom wrote quickly this time, his usually perfect penmanship suffering slightly.

_When you say that you aren't supposed to say his name, does that mean there is a Trace on it? Or just a residual fear of this wizard?_

_Well, I guess it's out of fear for most. Some of the darker witches and wizards do so out of respect. Me, I guess I just do it out of habit. I mean, the guy's been over for a decade, but no one wants to talk about him. It's easier to just do what everyone else does. _

_Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself. I think you should say it, or at least write it in my pages._

Dahlia thought about that for a minute. She knew a few people around the school who weren't afraid to use his name. She, personally, wasn't scared. Like she'd written, it was a habit for her.

_Most of us don't know his full name, but the world knew him as Lord Voldemort. _

Despite herself, a small shiver ran down her spine. Voldemort was dead. There was no way he could hurt her now… So why did she feel the strange premonition that she had put herself in danger when she wrote down his name?


	7. Memories

**Tom**

For fifty years, Tom had hoped that the other half of his soul had gone on to do great things. Sure, sometimes that hope had been tinged with resentment and even outright hatred, but he'd never been able to snuff out the final spark of hope. Now, with that unvoiced desire finally realized, he found himself speechless. A mixture of shock, triumph, and anger coursed through his imaginary veins as he tried to make sense of what Dahlia had said. Voldemort was _his_ name, the one he had created in his second year and started using among other Slytherins in his fifth.

Apparently, the other Tom had become a Dark Lord and gone on to have a rather illustrious life. But he had died. Even with a Horcrux, that couldn't have been very pleasant. After a minute or so, Tom realized that he still hadn't written back to Dahlia. He put quill to paper and voiced one of the many questions that was running through his mind.

_So how did he die?_

Dahlia seemed to be thinking for a moment.

_It was the strangest thing, really… He killed lots of people, but was finally defeated by a baby. _

"What the…?" Tom muttered to himself, hunched over a small table in his illusion of the Slytherin common room. "When did the world stop making sense?" To Dahlia, he wrote, in rather unsteady handwriting;

_Killed by an infant? How is that even possible?_

_Not killed, silly. Defeated. I'm not sure how it happened, but there are types of magic out there that most people don't even know about. Though I have no clue how a baby could do what some really experienced wizards couldn't…_

"That makes two of us."

To Tom's surprise, Dahlia didn't wait for him to write a response. She picked up her quill again and added;

_I guess nothing's ever as it seems. _

Feeling rather reckless, Tom replied;

_Especially me. _

_Is that so?_

Tom could practically taste the emotion in her writing. Dahlia was teasing him, nearly flirting. Though she didn't seem to be a typical giggling, boy-obsessed teenage girl, she was beginning to make him ever-so-slightly uncomfortable.

_Would you like to find out what I mean?_

Tom wasn't sure exactly _what_ he was doing. Perhaps he was still affected by what Dahlia had said about Lord Voldemort. Or maybe his boredom and frustration were finally becoming too much to bear. Either way, Tom knew he had to take some sort of action.

His first order of business would be to stop deluding Dahlia. She was a sweet girl, and didn't deserve to be lied to. Of course, she didn't deserve any of the other things Tom would do to her... But nothing could be done about _that_.

Tom wished he could just use another student for his purposes. Some sort of Hufflepuff whiner or overly noble Gryffindor. But Dahlia was the one who had written to him for the past few weeks. Dahlia was the one who had shared her feelings and expressed her opinions. She had been possessed by Tom and was already connected to him. For a purely magical reason, it had to be her.

**Dahlia**

Something about Tom was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. It wasn't that she didn't like him. He was one of the few people she could actually talk to; share feelings with. If he wasn't a memory preserved in a book, they could have been friends. If he was a real boy, she would try to date him regardless of what he looked like. Though a guy so charming probably wasn't very hard on the eyes…

Dahlia forced herself to stop speculating about what Tom may have looked like in life. She was getting sidetracked. Despite his winning personality and old-fashioned charisma, there was something slightly _off_ about him. This strange, mysterious way he was acting only intensified Dahlia's intuitive feelings about him.

_All right,_ she wrote. _I want to know what's going on with you. _

_You know what to do, even if you don't remember. Just touch your quill to the diary's page and hold it there..._

Dahlia vaguely remembered doing this once before. For some reason, the idea of doing it again frightened her. She couldn't remember what had happened after she held her quill to the page the first time, and the day after she'd done it had been the one of the strangest she'd ever had. She still couldn't figure out why Eric was avoiding her, but the thought occurred to her that it had something to do with Tom and his diary.

Though she didn't want to do whatever Tom was asking her to, she felt as if a strange magnetism was pulling her hand toward the diary's pages. There was a strange, out-of-control feeling. She wasn't sure she could say 'no' to Tom even if she really wanted to. Anyway, she kind of wanted to know what he was up to. Like the proverbial cat, the curiosity was killing her!

Dahlia drew a quick, nervous breath. Then, without thinking or debating any further, she touched her quill to the page.

She was dizzy within an instant, so disconcerted that she felt as if she were floating. She had no sense of her own body, only the images that were flickering into being – as if on a Muggle television – in front of and around her. The first scene was set in a small, stuffy room. Piles of clutter rusted in corners, and dust motes drifted lazily through the air. A small, pale boy stood in the center of the room, staring up at the ceiling.

His clothing was threadbare; dull-colored and worn. One of his eyes was blackened by a bruise, making the child look even more pitiful than he would have otherwise. The expression on his face, on the other hand, didn't really fit the Oliver Twist persona. The corners of the boy's mouth were turned up into a smile. As Dahlia watched, the smile melted into a look of grim satisfaction as the boy continued to stare at the rabbit hanging by a rope from the rafters.

The scene shimmered, then dissolved. It was replaced by the glistening black surface of a lake, which Dahlia recognized as the one near Hogwarts. Night had turned the water to ink, but the darkness was periodically broken by small, bobbing lights.

It must have been the first night of school, because each of the lights belonged to a boat steered by first-years. One of the boats floated by, and Dahlia could see that its only passenger was the same boy she'd been watching earlier. He rowed furiously, managing to keep pace with the others even though he had no partner to help him. Through it all, his gaze was fixed on the great Hogwarts castle itself. Dahlia could have sworn he was the same boy who'd killed an innocent rabbit minutes or years earlier… But was that a look of innocent wonder in his eyes?

The surroundings changed again, re-forming into the interior of a common room at Hogwarts that Dahlia had never been inside of. It was decorated in a color scheme composed almost entirely of green and silver, so it wasn't particularly hard to guess which House it belonged to. The boy from before, now looking to be around twelve or thirteen, lounged in a green armchair near the fire. Next to him, in another armchair, sat a girl with long sheets of dark hair.

"Vira Jokes Nice?" the boy was saying. "Is that really the best anagram you can think of for Veronica Jenkins?"

The girl blushed lightly, her pale cheeks gaining a hint of color. "I'd like to see _yours_," she challenged. "What can you make out of Tom Riddle?"

"Not much," admitted that Dahlia now knew to be Tom himself. The realization sat uncomfortably in her invisible stomach, especially when she remembered the rabbit from before. "But if I add my middle name…" Tom continued.

"Then what?"

Tom looked uncomfortable for a second. "Well… It's a strange one. If I make an anagram out of my full name, I get 'I am Lord Voldemort'."

"That's French," said the girl. "Something about flight and death."

"You think I haven't looked it up?" Tom snapped, and the common room began to blur.

Dahlia's mind was spinning even faster than her surroundings. Tom, _her_ Tom, had been the one to invent the name "Voldemort"? He must have turned out to be the Dark Lord himself!

But how had a memory of his teenage self been sealed inside an inanimate object like that diary?

Then the next memory –for that's what Dahlia now knew the scenes to be – began to form. It was brief, just a split-second flash of an image. A darkened hallway, a roaming first-year boy, a tall figure in the corner raising its wand toward the child.

After that, a bathroom blinked into existence. Dahlia recognized it as the home of Moaning Myrtle, the whiny ghost-girl who'd died under mysterious circumstances nearly fifty years before. The bathroom was flooded, water turning the floor into an enormous mirror. One of the sinks was broken, not just cracked or leaking but actually moved far enough to the side to reveal a gaping hole in the floor.

A girl lay near the hole, not moving or even breathing. Dahlia recognized Moaning Myrtle's distinctive pigtails. Though Dahlia still couldn't see her own body, the sight made her feel physically ill. Then she heard something moving from one of the stalls. She whirled around to face the noise, and it turned out to be Tom again. He was sitting on the toilet – with his pants on, luckily – which would have been kind of funny under a different sort of circumstances.

He didn't look too good. He was leaning forward, head in his hands, and his skin was even paler than it had been in the other memories. As Dahlia watched, he straightened up with a visible effort and retrieved a wand and a book from the waterlogged floor. It was his diary, the same one that Dahlia had written in just a few minutes before.

Tom looked like he was mentally preparing himself for something, staring intensely right through Dahlia because she wasn't really there. Then, raising the still-dripping wand and touching it to the cover of the diary, he cast a spell that Dahlia could have sworn she'd heard or seen in writing somewhere before.

"Anima sigilum," Tom said, nearly whispering. That spell must have taken the last bit of strength from him, because he went completely limp and fell face-first into the water on the floor.

This vision faded, like the others, but this time Dahlia found herself sprawled out sideways on her own bed. The dormitory was empty, as was usual for the middle of the afternoon. Dahlia shivered, though the room wasn't especially cold.

How had she let Tom –No, _Voldemort_ – trick her like that? Yes, he'd seemed nice… Charming, even, and he _did _look pretty hot as a teenager… But how had he fooled her so easily and for so long?

Dahlia was pretty sure she knew what the diary was now, and she resolved to throw the dirty thing away as soon as possible. She sat up, diary in hand, but was hit with a wave of dizziness that nearly knocked her over again. Through a haze of yellow stars, she saw a shadow move in the edges of her vision. Then a boy's voice spoke, somewhere behind her.

"And where do you think _you're _going?"


End file.
